


this is the time of your life but you just can't tell

by passeridae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Abuse, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gabriel is not a nice man in this, Injury, M/M, Mild Degradation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29327781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: Jack is recovering from a near-fatal stabbing. Gabriel has a point to make to the person who permitted the stabbing to occur. They get distracted on the way there — Jack's always been at his prettiest when he's out of his mind.Jack doesn't remember being carried downstairs. He remembers waking up, he thinks, the world hazy and soft around him, the feeling of Gabriel pressing around his surgical sites with near clinical precision. He remembers thinking,oh, he didn't leave those marks, he's going to punish me,before vertigo hits him hard as a car crash. He gives into it, and drifts. He doesn't know for how long.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	this is the time of your life but you just can't tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gyromitra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/gifts).



> Based off this most wonderful twitter thread: https://mobile.twitter.com/LMsDread/status/1356009661489696771  
> If you're not up to reading it, the key components are that Gabriel heads up a crime syndicate, Jack was sent in undercover some years ago, which Gabriel knew about from the start. By this stage they've been together for 2+ years. Jack is recovering from a near-fatal stabbing, hence the stitches.
> 
> Please mind the tags!
> 
> (and don't do drugs, kids.)

Jack doesn't remember being carried downstairs. He remembers waking up, he thinks, the world hazy and soft around him, the feeling of Gabriel pressing around his surgical sites with near clinical precision. He remembers thinking, _oh, he didn't leave those marks, he's going to punish me,_ before vertigo hits him hard as a car crash. He gives into it, and drifts. He doesn't know for how long. 

Next he knows, he's laid out, nude at Gabriel's feet, curled up on the floor between his thighs. One calf presses his legs against the chair, the other provides somewhere for Jack to rest his head. Boxed in, surrounded on all sides with Gabriel's bulk. Jack appreciates the physicality of the position, the touch telling him that Gabriel is a real person, not just in his head, this time. Gabriel’s the only thing holding him up, his muscles soft and unresponsive as he tries to shift his arm. The effect too strong for heroin alone, though he can still taste the sharpness of it curdling sour in his mouth. Fentanyl, perhaps. His skin certainly itches enough for a strong opiate to be to blame.

He closes his eyes, exhausted down to his bones. Gabriel is talking to someone, he can tell by the vibrations of Gabriel's body under his cheek. Not to him, he’d be told to look up if that was the case. To Amèlie, perhaps. The tapping of her nails against a screen is distinctive enough as she takes notes, clucking her tongue in annoyance as the phone rings. Her voice moves away, sharp and rapid as she talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line. 

It’s quiet, only the sounds of Jesse playing somewhere in the house echoing through the rooms. Time passes. Sometimes, Gabriel's hand falls to his hair, petting through the strands. Someone's washed it, he thinks. He doesn't think it was him. He doesn’t remember it. The world is spinning slow circles around him, dizzying, nauseating. 

Gabriel presses something between his lips which dissolves in a burst of artificial sweetness. Jack makes a soft noise of complaint, but dutifully doesn't swallow, like he’s told, waiting for it to dissolve and sink into the lining of his cheeks. 

Afterwards, Gabriel allows him a few sips of water that spill over him, much more than the get down his throat. He can't seem to breathe properly, but the worry is distant. Ephemeral. Too tiring to entertain. More important is pressing his face back against Gabriel's thigh, slowly rubbing his face against the weave of the wool to feel it catch on his skin. Scratching the itch that lies under it. Letting Gabriel's scent fill his nose. He winds up with his face pressed against the crease of Gabriel's hip, letting out a small sound at the heat that emanates from Gabriel so close to his core. When did Jack get so cold.

Amèlie's voice returns, Gabriel laughing at something she says. The sound of items placed on the table behind him. Gabriel leans over Jack, boxing him in even further, crushing his head between his thigh and abdomen as he grabs Jack's numb hands, pulling them together behind his back. Jack's head is spinning faster now — impaired circulation? Lack of air? He doesn't know. Faintly, he can feel something rough rubbing against his wrists. It's only when Gabriel sits back, lets him breathe again, that he tests it. Rope, he thinks, not meant to cut, even as it burns and chafes, Gabriel is being gentle with him. He’s thankful for it.

The position he’s been pulled into, his arms behind him pushing his chest forward, puts his still-healing wounds on his left on full display to the room, makes his stitches tug with strain. When did the dressings come off? He doesn't know. Should they be off so soon? How long had it been since the beach, since the hospital? Less than four weeks, he thinks, and that was the usual time frame to remove stitches wasn't it?

Fingers at his lips distract him. Gabriel's, brushing something along his lower lip, pressing into his mouth. It burns at his sinuses, makes his lip tingle and numb. _Fireball,_ he thinks, _probably shouldn't be having that with all the opiates._ He swallows regardless, throat spasming, and Gabriel pushes his fingers deeper with an amused noise. 

Jack doesn't gag, even as they hit the back of his throat and push further still, until they're buried right to the first knuckle. "I thought you'd be over these side effects by now," Gabriel tells him, absently thrusting his fingers in and out of Jack's throat as he sips from his glass with his other hand. His nonchalance is betrayed by the way he starts to harden in his pants, pressing against Jack's cheek, blood hot and insistent. Jack is smearing saliva over the fabric already, swallowing not working quite right with three fingers buried deep in his throat, obstructing the motion. Gabriel removes them with one final thrust, petting over Jack's tongue as he pulls them free. He wipes the damp fingers on Jack's face.

Jack turns his head to brush his lips against Gabriel’s clothed cock, breathing high in his chest, not able to keep his eyes open for more than a few fluttering seconds at a time. His eyes fixate on the sharp cut of a cheekbone, the dark expanse of pupils blown wide with lust, a single curl of hair falling over the shell of an ear. The faintest hint of a smile, tucked behind full lips. The gleam of cut glass as he sips at his drink. 

Gabriel's opened belt buckle falls against Jack's exposed cheek — not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to startle. Jack tries to flinch, the motion delayed, his muscles refusing to obey him, makes a small noise perilously close to a whine. Gabriel chuckles low, amused by the sound. "No time for that today, doggie, maybe next time." He pets through Jack's hair again, before he grips the strands at the back of his head, tight, painful, using the grip to manoeuvre Jack's face around so his now-bare cock presses against barely parted lips. "Open."

Jack opens for him, letting his tongue roll free of his mouth. He's too lead-heavy to do anything except breathe as Gabriel fucks his mouth, using him like a toy. He can feel the stitches in his side tugging, but not quite pulling free of his skin, a sharp pain that helps him stay awake, stay something close to aware as Gabriel uses him how he likes.

And he most definitely seems to be enjoying himself. His cock slides into Jack's throat without the faintest trace of resistance, Jack's lips pressing against the soft wool of Gabriel's pants, soaking it with his spit as Gabriel holds him down. Cutting off Jack’s air. Gabriel makes a soft, low sound of pleasure, hips jerking just once, as if to get even closer inside. His hand fisted in Jack’s hair is the only thing holding Jack upright.

Jack's vision is spotting black by the time Gabriel pulls Jack's head back, off his cock, just far enough to let him breathe. Jack takes in a sharp-sweet gulp of air, then another, and then Gabriel is pressing him down again. He alternates between holding Jack flush with his groin for long stretches, cutting off his breath, followed by fucking into his mouth hard and sharp. At some stage the skin at the corner of Jack’s mouth must tear because the taste of copper spills sudden across his tongue and Gabriel's eyes darken until they’re black as midnight. 

He takes another sip of his drink, purposefully slow, before putting the glass down and laying chilled fingers along Jack's jaw. His thumb presses into the split at the corner of Jack's lips, nail worrying at the cut to widen it, to spill more blood down Jack’s face. Murmurs, "such a good bitch." in a tone low enough to be a growl. Heat coils low and fast in Jack's abdomen — an ingrained response to that word by now. Gabriel's made sure of that. 

He plays with Jack for a while longer, bringing himself to the edge then slowing down — sipping his drink, playing with Jack's jaw, his lips. Tucking mussed hair behind Jack’s ear, only to shake it loose again with harsh thrusts moments later. Jack lets himself slip back into the welcoming embrace of nothingness, floating on the cushion of whichever drugs are in his system. Time becomes liquid, slips through his fingers in irregular breaths and flashes of sudden pain. 

So Gabriel's orgasm takes him by surprise. Gabriel has him pressed flush to his groin once more, pulsing in hot bursts down his throat, but Jack can't swallow fast enough to keep up — semen fills his mouth, drips from his lips as he tries to make his throat work and fails. He's pulled back, head spinning, the grip on his hair a solid mass of throbbing pain. Then Gabriel's free hand is on his face once more, moving slow and sure, collecting up the combination of semen and blood streaking pink down Jack's chin. Pushing it into Jack's mouth, until he laps weakly at the digit, cleaning it. Then another, and another. Gabriel tilts Jack's head back, damp fingers hot on Jack's face. He tells him to swallow. He does. 

"Good doggie." Gabriel's smile is sharp as he tucks his cock away, fastening his spit-soaked pants and buckling his belt once more. A door closing, far away, Amèlie's voice. Gabriel makes an affirmative noise, taking something from near his glass on the table. "Open," he tells Jack again. "Can't have you running your mouth when our guest gets here."

The gag would make him choke on any other day, but slides down smooth with the drugs snuffing out his gag reflex. Not as much of an intrusion as Gabriel's cock, but large enough for him to feel it, for him to have to focus on his breathing or risk not getting enough air. Gabriel buckles the straps efficiently, throws something over Jack to cover his nakedness. Looking to make a point, or just his possessiveness coming forward? Jack can't tell, not like this. He appreciates the added warmth either way.

Gabriel guides his head back to its place on his thigh, and Jack lets himself drift again. There’s the sound of Gabriel talking to someone, another man in the room. He’s real, then. Jack lets the sound of their voices wash over him like the breeze. The sharp pulling at his already aching head, his air being cut off by the gag as he’s tugged _up,_ they come as an unwelcome surprise and he can't help but let out a distressed sound as he's released once more. Once he can breathe again. But it’s a momentary discomfort, comparatively. Gabriel continues talking as if he’s not even there. Perhaps he isn’t. He doesn’t know, anymore.

When he next wakes, he's in bed, the world hazy and soft around him. His skin itches. Gabriel is there. Jack isn't sure if he ever left. 

His wrists are rubbed raw, but that’s nothing new.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, if you're wondering, a side effect of high dose opiates is a complete loss of the gag reflex.


End file.
